Means to an End
by nprieto
Summary: She finally brought them down; the Storm Hawks were no longer a threat. Piper was in her possession, and she would exploit that raw talent for all it was worth. She couldn’t shrug off the feeling that something wasn’t right. Slight CyclonisPiper.


**Author's Notes:** I'm currently reading _The Fountainhead_ by Ayn Rand. As I read her approach to the relationship between Roark and Dominique, I can't help but correlate their situation with Piper and Cyclonis… or rather, what could've been. Hence, this was born.

**Summary:** She finally brought them down; the Storm Hawks were no longer a threat. Piper was in her possession, and she would exploit that raw talent for all it was worth. She couldn't shrug off the feeling that something wasn't right.

- - -

She looked at the girl with a sort of seething contempt. It wasn't manifest in the hostility she hid under a veil of professionalism, nor was it obvious in the way she carried herself—close enough for proximity, but far enough for observance. She bore down on the structures that surrounded them with her eyes, vaguely unaware of her wish for it all to topple down on the silent figure seeing to their stability. For a reason she couldn't conjure, she felt unrelenting hatred. It wasn't necessarily for the subject in question, but for everything around her. She despised the incessant hum of machinery and the grunts of the men and the whistle blasts and the roaring engines. She hated looking at everything and feeling helpless to do nothing. She couldn't do anything. Why should that have mattered to someone who hated getting her hands dirty? She hated the fact she didn't know.

Oh, but there was that little hummingbird flitting in and out of her vision. The only female on the ground floor; Ravess was overseeing Terra Bluster. Piper's frame looked meek and drab in the overalls she wore—greased, stained, and torn beyond repair. Her body was exhausted, but she didn't let it show. No. That would be a sign of weakness. That would bring down everything Cyclonis believed to justify her anger. Piper just worked. And worked. And pretended the empress wasn't there. No, no. That wouldn't be true. She knew she was there. But she had the impudence to think nothing of it.

Her nails clicked impatiently on the railing. She clawed at the rust beneath her fingertips and surveyed the expanse of the building with disinterest. It was a common structure, these days. Hundreds of sweatshops erected on desolate terras—or rather, terras made desolate by the advancing front. It was a tribute to everything she ever wanted as a ruler, yet she knew it was far from something to glorify. She allowed herself to reminisce on the haphazard lengths she went to pursue victory. They were memories that should've bolstered her ego and do away with the uneasiness that settled on her conscience. She finally brought them down; the Storm Hawks were no longer a threat. Piper was in her possession, and she would exploit that raw talent for all it was worth. She couldn't shrug off the feeling that something wasn't right.

Maybe it was the way the other girl incessantly worked. Devoid of everything that used to matter, she was committed to the tasks dictated for her to oversee. Her work was all she cared for; no one questioned the complacent face she expressed or the sense of isolation that followed her presence. She did what she was told and questioned nothing. Heeded nothing, save for the physical demands of the human body.

Then, it happened. It was by accident that Piper's eyes traveled to meet those of Cyclonis. Lark reeled and grasped the moment as a way to express her authority, her pomposity, her whatever-it-was that ensured her status as the dominant figure in the space that enclosed them. She held her neck curtly, tilted slightly to signify recognition. The response Piper gave was everything she expected but resented to receive. Her eyes were unreadable, and they passed through the ruler like misguided, transparent daggers. That was the proverbial straw.

In a swift motion she signaled for the foreman to direct Piper to her. She would assert herself and bring down the invisible demon that lurked in her domain. She didn't care that she had no means to identify it, but she had no interest in honoring her rage and discomfort with a name. She watched attentively as the man hulked over to his charge. A few, unheard words were exchanged, and the specialist sauntered toward the reddening stairway, neither surprised nor expectant of anything. She stood within five feet of the empress, looking straight into her eyes with an expression that bordered on indifference. Cyclonis might as well have been a wraith, swathed in dark robes that accentuated her pale features. Yet, she stood with polite and bitter composure. Her physical distaste for the figure before her kept her grounded.

There were no empty words shared between them. Each carried a syllable intended to crush the other, spoken in a manner between intimate coworkers, yet thinly veiled by the shared history they never ignored. They discussed the construction occurring below their feet, seen through the gaps in the metal bands that seemed to struggle to keep them upright. Crystallography, mechanics, aerial units—everything that should've been significant to the helpless queen who could only dictate but never touch. To anyone who overheard, it was a conversation among colleagues. To anyone who dissected what he heard, it was a battle that proved fruitless.

Lark did nothing offhand in her embittered state. She conceded no defeat, but she claimed no victory. Her hands trembled as she set them lightly on the railing, and she resumed her silent observation. Piper went off to her work as if nothing had happened. That was all she knew and cared for; everything else just filled in the gaps.

- - -

**Author's Notes:** I welcome any criticisms/critiques.


End file.
